New York, New York
by BehrBeMine
Summary: AU. Amy leaves the safety net of her hometown to get away from the tragedy that haunts her.
1. On a Jet Plane

Title: New York, New York  
Author: BehrBeMine  
Feedback: I'm nervous about this one... Any comments you might have would be extremely helpful. I really hope you like it!  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Don't sue, I'll cry. ;p  
Summary: AU -- I have turned the world upside down. What if it wasn't Ephram's family that suffered the loss of a beloved someone? What if therefore they never moved to Everwood? Amy leaves the safety net of her hometown to get away from the tragedy that haunts her.  
Rating: PG (for now)  
Distribution: Just please let me know and we'll be good.  
Classification: Ephram and Amy  
Spoilers: Up through January of 2006.  
Beta: Thanks to Roxy, Christine, and Mom for looking this one over. Your comments are much appreciated.

**Chapter One: On a Jet Plane**

- -  
"The hardest thing in this world is to live in it. Be brave. Live. For me." -- 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer'

She was a bee being drawn to honey. Arriving on a jet plane from a far-off small town in Colorado, she shed the Everwood in her and stepped into a new life, what she hoped would be a glamorous life, one to make her forget so much that had come to pass. Those so easily punished learn their lessons well. Those so easily punished live in constant fear of being punished again. She looked to start over, to begin a new life, being a new person, creating new memories... and leaving pain behind her, where it belongs, and where she prayed it would stay.

Her name was Amy Nicole. She was a dancer, headed to Julliard to dance her heart out. Some would say she was an exceptional dancer; others, less knowledgeable of dance, would nod and agree that she was quite good. All in Everwood would stand from their seats and applaud, at her tiny recitals, like the spectators at some grand opera. She remembered the applause, the graceful bows, the roses in her hands, the small cards thrown at her feet. Always one from Mom: "Way to go. Nothing gives me more reason to be proud of you than who you are. Who you have always been. Who you will always be."

The honey of New York City was sticky, like Spider-Man's nets, ready to catch and enslave such an innocent by-stander, a young girl who so obviously didn't know her way around, and had no idea where she was going. Where should she go first? What to do first when you're finally in a city that you've dreamed of for a year, ever since... ever since fate crushed your heart into sand made from petals. The petals that fell from the dancing roses in your arms.

For the first time in her life, Amy was all alone. No big brother at her side to give her wet willies and strut around as if he was the new it in whatever cocky fashion he chose; no father bustling about with a written list of schedules -- where to go to, where you're coming from, why you're there; no mother... no mother at all.

Should she feel free? She didn't know. She suddenly felt cold, and embraced herself. The simple spaghetti-strap shirt that she wore suddenly didn't seem to cover enough of her delicate little body. This shirt, in a perfect shade of pink to match the plum blush on her cheeks, with faded jeans adorned with small patches of tears in the fabric, complimented her features. But perhaps it stopped at just that. She didn't know if she was just being paranoid, or if she really didn't fit in with this big city crowd.

The plane ride had seemed a long one. Sitting next to her had been an aging black woman, who looked to be in her sixties. Amy didn't know, really. She was a horrible judge of age. People often thought her to be younger than she actually was. Although it used to bother her as a child, she now took it as a compliment, as it would mean a lot when she reached ages like seventy, and battled to defend her youth. The woman beside her was named Patty, and asked kindly if this was Amy's first trip to "the city".

"Yes," Amy said, then became apprehensive: "How can you tell?"

Patty laughed lightly. "It's in your features, child. You're tight, protective, in your shell. You're all wound up. Don't you worry. The city'll beat the scaredy-cat out of you. Why, I've lived there for more than thirty years. I'm just coming home from visiting my son for the summer. It'll be nice to get back to my flat. Nice to get home again..."

Home. Everwood didn't feel like home anymore. Not since... well, not since fate came and left, taking its casualty. Amy looked to New York to be her new home.

"So the city makes you tougher," she guessed out loud.

"That's one way of putting it," said Patty with a kind smile. "You look so delicate. But I'll bet you're not. I'll bet you're made of steel. People used to call me a frail little thing, and just look'it how I've survived. All of my siblings are dead. Who would've thought I'd be the only one left in the end..."

"Made of steel..." Amy shifted in her seat, cleared her throat, tossed her hair. Her much shorter hair. She had cut it from her waist to shoulder length. A new look for a new life. A way to start all over again. Steel. She would be steel. Weakness was preyed upon in all places, not just those with skyscrapers. She had learned to bandage her wounds. And she had learned to hide what should be hidden from those who shouldn't see.

"You're a student, I'll bet," Patty went on to say. "Going to school in NY?"

"College. Yes. First year."

Patty's eyes widened.

"I'm a dancer," Amy continued.

Patty's face softened. She gave Amy a warm smile. "Dancing. Now that's the stuff. And don't you just look the part, all spry and little. And look at that toned muscle, let me see that arm!"

Amy laughed and showcased her arm for her fellow passenger to see. Not an inch of fat on it. Well crafted from so many grueling hours of work. The process can sometimes be so ugly in order to create something so beautiful. In that way Amy would compare dancing to giving birth. The hardest work you can imagine, but oh, the payoff at the end. Beauty. And flowers of congratulations to sit on your window sill.

"Well," said Patty, "I'll leave you be, angel child." She pulled out some crossword puzzles and set to work. Amy drew her discman from the small carry-on bag at her feet. She lulled herself to sleep with lyrics that soothed her soul. _I want to learn how you save yourself for someone who can love you for you..._

She thought of things long since buried. Or things that were supposed to be buried a long time ago.

_She saw Colin's face, smiling with the idiotic wisdom of a pumped-up thirteen year-old, laughing as Bright carried her over his shoulder to kick her out of the room. "You can come back later, Grover," Colin assured her, giggling behind his hand. "We just need some alone time."_

_"Yeah, like without the annoying baby sister around," put in Bright. "'Oh, Mom, Bright said 'hell' four times yesterday.' 'Mom, Colin kicked me.' 'Daddy, they're being mean.'"_

_"You **are** being mean!" she fumed. "Mean, mean, mean! Let me **go**!"_

_"What's that?" mocked Bright, still carrying her slight form bent over his back. "Make the wind blow?" He nodded at Colin, who turned on the big fan in the window._

_"Let me go!"_

_Bright appeared to strain his ears. "Sorry, Ames, can't hear you. You said you're a big ho?" She screamed. "We should toss you to-and-fro? Your flat chest will never grow?"_

_"Daddy!" yelled twelve year-old Amy. "Daddy, they're torturing me again!"_

_"Oh, man," said a disappointed Colin as all three heard footsteps coming up the stairs. The stairs later had carpeting on them, but not till a few years later, when Harold and Rose learned that their steps preceded them in enough time to constantly warn the kids they were coming. It was the same in this case. Bright dropped Amy right where he stood. She crashed to the ground, head first._

_She yelled out in pain. "Bright, I'm gonna make you pay for that! You're going to be so dead!"_

_"Ooh, cat fight," Colin exclaimed, scratching the air with his nails. "Kill him, Grover."_

_"Du-u-ude," Bright complained. "Whose side are you on?"_

_"Sorry," Colin quickly amended. Then he raised his eyes to the doorway._

_"Bright," Harold said, his voice tired. "Have you dropped your sister again?"_

_"She asked me to," said Bright._

_"Bright! Shut up!" Amy screamed, then ran off down the hall._

_Colin laughed again. "Run, Grover, run!"_

Somebody was shaking her awake. "We're here, sweetheart," said Patty, looking into Amy's blinking eyes. Amy frowned, at first not realizing where she was, and who was in front of her.

"Wha?..."

"Darling, we're in New York. You're on the plane. Remember?"

Amy removed the headphones of her discman, turning off her favorite song. "Oh... right. Thanks. Sorry. I'm... I just got lost, is all."

"Bad dream?"

"No." Amy sat back. She smiled faintly. "Not so bad at all."

When she got off the plane, she saw a mirage of faces. Previously, when she had been here to audition, it had been with her father, who had so quickly ushered her through the hustle and bustle. "Must move quickly or you'll focus on the amount of people and get stressed out," he reasoned. "Quickly now, quickly!" He hurried her along.

She had found the hurrying to be the stressful part. Now that she was on her own... she wanted to smell the roses. She could almost feel the weight of them in her arms, could almost sense the small pricks from the thorns. She glanced down at one of her arms to see that it was fine. She held her bag to her solemnly, watching everyone go by. "Bye, sweetie," said nice old Ms. Patty, giving her a pat on the shoulder. "Good luck. When you dance, think of whatever it was that put such a smile on your face."

Amy looked at her thoughtfully. She pictured Colin, her first love. Her only love. "I will," she promised.

_She would._

- -  
to be continued...


	2. New Things and New Places

Title: New York, New York  
Author: BehrBeMine  
Feedback: Thanks for the comments so far. Let me know if what I'm doing is right.  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Don't sue, I'll cry. ;p  
Summary: AU -- I have turned the world upside down. What if it wasn't Ephram's family that suffered the loss of a beloved someone? What if therefore they never moved to Everwood? Amy leaves the safety net of her hometown to get away from the tragedy that haunts her.  
Rating: PG (for now)  
Distribution: Just please let me know and we'll be good.  
Classification: Ephram and Amy  
Spoilers: Up through January of 2006.  
Beta: Thanks Roxy, and thanks, Mom, for looking it over. Mom, thanks especially for the first sentence of this chapter.  
Note: Shoutout to my favorite author, V.C. Andrews, in this chapter. I have taken one of her characters to include, although I've changed his physical appearance, for we can only have one dark stranger without it getting too confusing, hmm?

**Chapter Two: New Things and New Places**

- -  
She heard the distinctive click of the receiver being picked up.

"Magic Johnson speaking."

"Shut up, Bright. Where's Dad?" Amy said into the phone.

"He's with John Elway."

Amy rolled her eyes. "Bright. He told me to call when I landed."

"Are your wings tired?"

"Okay, so I take it he's not there?"

"It was just a question."

"Why are you in Dad's house? Go home! With Mr. 'I'm Not in the Right Place to Date' Reid," said Amy, resigned to being snotty around her brother.

Bright's mouth was full as he talked. "Dad has all the food. We've got nothing but ketchup."

"You're a thief."

"I'm a good one."

Amy rolled her eyes again, and hung up the pay phone. She would call her father from the dorm. Picking up her carry-on bag, she looked around her and started toward baggage claim. It was crowded. Why so many people had chosen to settle in this place, New York, was beyond her. But they had, and here she was.

She found the luggage carousel where her bags would be. The two bags were huge and heavy, and she did not look forward to lugging them around. She looked at all the bags that passed her by. Fancy luggage, in blue, in black, tasteful colors. An old woman hefted a large red bag from the carousel, and nearly collapsed from the effort. Amy thought to hurry over, but she wouldn't be any help. She was even slighter than the old woman. Though she was strong, she was a dancer, after all. She began to head over there, but as she was turning, one of her bags showed up.

Amy reached and lifted the bag from the traveling carousel. It seemed even heavier than it had been when she had loaded it up in Denver. Deep breath in, deep breath out, and she clutched it tightly, taking it off the carousel and then slamming it onto the ground. As her other bag came rolling by, she groaned. Only a few minutes in the city, and already she was overwhelmed.

"You could just ask for help, you know," said a boy, stepping up suddenly beside her.

"I can do it," Amy insisted, grabbing the second bag and pulling it towards her. She teetered off balance, and was swiftly caught by the boy. She looked into his dark eyes. The mysterious stranger looked back into hers. "Okay, so maybe I need a little help," she admitted, hating to appear a damsel in distress.

The boy smirked, and righted Amy onto her feet. He pointed beside him at a luggage cart. "We big city folk use these to get around without snapping our arms off." He loaded her two bags onto it, as well as her carry-on bag.

"How do you know I'm not big city folk?" she asked defensively.

He glanced at her, and then began rearranging her luggage. He seemed shy. "Dunno. Just a look in your eyes. You seem too innocent to be one of us."

"I'm not innocent." She was still defensive. "I've seen things." She couldn't help but to think of such things now. She thought of her mother's face, her smile, her hands that so easily could pull little Amy into a hug. She thought of her in more recent times, when she resembled a ghost.

"Right. Well, I didn't mean... You just don't look like a New Yorker is all."

Amy sighed, relaxed, and smiled. "So what's my initiation? Do I get mugged before I reach the street?"

"That's up to you." The boy was gorgeous, with his deep-throated voice, and those sparkling eyes. "Don't look so unassuming. Right now, you're just asking for trouble."

"Okay, so I have to _assume_ I'm going to get mugged?" Amy teased.

"Now you're thinking like a New Yorker."

A small girl with the same brown hair as the handsome stranger came running up and grabbed his hand. "Come on, Ephram!" she said, tugging on his hand. "Dad's plane landed!"

"I'll alert the authorities," he said blandly.

"Ephram," Amy mused aloud. "...I like that name."

"Oh, good, do you want it?" Ephram asked, slightly distracted by his sister.

Amy laughed. The brunette girl looked up at her, with eyes so big and wide. Now that was an innocent face. That was the kind that would get mugged.

"Is this your sister?" Amy asked instead of answering.

"Hi, yeah, I'm Delia," said the girl, rushed, her cheeks pink from running. "Come on, Ephram. Dad wants to see you."

"How do you know that if he just landed?"

"Because he always wants to see you. Come on."

"He never wants to see me," Ephram insisted bitterly, unable to force a smile any longer.

Amy looked to Delia. "I have a big brother, too."

"Oh, then you understand," Delia suggested.

"Completely."

Delia started pulling Ephram away, and Amy, trying to regain a regular heartbeat, watched in anticipation of him leaving, another event to mar her life. There was something about him... She wanted him to stay.

"I -- I guess I'll see you..." said Ephram hurriedly, "around. Or, you know, not, since the city's so big, but..."

Amy sighed, her heart troubled. "Oh -- okay. Um, thanks for the help with, you know, the luggage, and the mugging... or I mean, the warning of the mugging... Unless you do it, as well..."

Ephram swallowed, looking at her face. His chest hurt. And before he had the chance to summon up a nice goodbye, Delia had pulled him into the crowd of passengers looking to find their way.

As Ephram and his little sister disappeared into the crowd, Amy sighed and began lugging her carrier towards the exit, where she hoped to hail a cab to get to the dorms. People in New York, that was what they did, right? She could remember the last time she was here, for the audition, and her father waving his arms around, flapping like a bird in the street. How cabs passed him by, the cabbies wearing strained expressions at his enthusiasm. New Yorkers didn't care. It wasn't new and exciting to them. Maybe nothing was...

When she got past the automatic moving doors, and stepped outside into the hot summer afternoon, she was grabbed at the elbow by a man in his thirties, who hustled her and her luggage along toward the curb. "Need a cab, honey? I'll get you one."

"Thanks -- " But before she could even really get it out, a cab was hailed, and she was shoved in the back seat. Then the guy went around to the trunk to load up her bags. It was like Jonah's New York journey in 'Sleepless in Seattle'. Without the man yelling at the cabby to stick closer to the curb. And then they were off.

"Where you going, doll?" asked the cabby as they circled the huge parking lot on their way out.

"Julliard."

The cabby grunted in response, and set to work to get her there.

Amy sat back in her seat, fluffing her hair that no longer reached her shoulders. She thought of Ephram, with those eyes, and that voice... Like an angel, he had descended on her for the briefest of moments, leaving, a handsome stranger, igniting Amy's excitement for this city, this place that she had dreamed of for a year. With a start like Ephram, it couldn't be that bad, could it? Not with angels to look out for you.

--

When they arrived at Julliard, it was just as she remembered it. Huge. Massive. Important.

The cabby brought her bags, trailing behind her for an extra tip, as Amy sought out her dorm room. When she found it, she entered to find a spacious common room, with plush white couches and a study desk over in the corner. From there, she walked toward one of the bedrooms, knocking before stepping in.

"Oh, so you're the last one," said a tall girl with red hair and freckles peppered about her face. "I'm Tracy. You'll share this room with me. I hope you don't have too much stuff..." She looked to the cabby, who gratefully set down two of Amy's bags, while she set down her small carry-on. "'Cause I've got a lot."

"Um, well, just these three bags, for now," Amy informed her. "It's nice to meet you."

She turned around and paid the cabby, asking if what she gave was an admirable tip. The smile on the cabby's face told her as much, and he left. Amy looked to Tracy, and smiled. A new life, starting now.

--

That first night, after orientation, Amy lay in bed with the lights off, hearing Tracy's faint snoring in the bed at the opposite side of the room. She thought of her mom, radiant and beautiful, and then tapering off, losing strength, losing the will to live. She thought of her dad, flamboyant and insistent that everything would be "just fine". He didn't know Amy had seen him crumble, didn't know that she had stood just beyond the kitchen doorway, watching him break down and cry.

She thought of Bright, and rolled her eyes. It would be nice to be free of him for a while. At least until the holidays, she hoped. They had the typical big brother, little sister relationship. A lot of, "Quit hogging the potatoes!" and "Get out of my room!" She couldn't count how many times in her younger years she had yelled out, "I'm telling!" And Mom was always there to tell. Though she rarely punished Bright with more than a, "Don't bait your sister, dear."

"One day, I'll be taller than you," Amy would tell him. "And I'll be strong, like an Amazon. And I'll step on you when you get in my way!"

"Ooh," Bright would say with a whistle. "I'm so scared, I think I'll sit here and not run away."

Amy would kick him, with her dancer's legs, and then it would be his turn to tell.

Big brothers, sheesh. Who needed them? Who wanted one? They could certainly have hers.

Some time later, as her mind focused on the handsome Ephram from the airport, Amy finally fell asleep, in her first night away from home and everything she'd ever known.

--

Classes were hard, though interesting. Dancing wore Amy out. Her instructor, Madame Holoff, made it her purpose to run her dancers ragged. On the first day, she gave an intimidating speech.

"You might have been the big bang in your last dance class. You may have been told you're special. You may have received thunderous applause, in your small towns, on your small stages. This is **Julliard**. Things are tough. You'll have to work hard to get anywhere, and you still might get nowhere at that. I'll be assessing your talent, and I'll be honest, in all things, in all ways. Expect no cuddling from me. I am here not to flatter, but to make you better dancers. To make you into the best athletes you can be... Welcome to Julliard."

They were paired off to dance with one other dancer, and improve one another through feedback and mirroring -- doing the same steps at the same time. Madame said it would help to stay in sync with the music if you could stay in sync with someone else.

Amy was paired with Julian, a strong, supple blonde boy who had legs and arms, and a six-pack to die for. She was not intimidated by his good looks. She had seen a hundred boys in her time who looked just as handsome, and she had reigned supreme over them all at school, being always one of the most popular there. Though she never adopted the popular mentality, she knew her place in the world. She was above no one, but not below them, either. They were equals, no matter what gender, no matter what color hair, no matter what lighted-up smile.

Julian had a crooked smile that moved into a smirk on occasion. He seemed pleased to be paired up with Amy, assessing her body, looking her over right away. "You're light," he said. "I like that. Don't want to be lifting a cow."

Amy held back a "moo" and decided to assess him right back. "Your legs look strong... but will they crumble?"

"My legs are stronger than any dancer's in Connecticut," Julian said brashly, immediately on the defense.

"Hmm, but we're not **in** Connecticut."

"They're certainly stronger than yours."

"Oh yeah?" said Amy, ready for a verbal tumble. "Prove it. If you're so strong."

Julian gave her that telltale smirk, and then _pirouetted_, around and around and around and around. He began _pirouetting_ around her, sneaking sly looks every time he faced her, his arms creating a circle before him, as if he was holding an enormous ball. When finally he stopped, she was dizzy, and he was on fire. He licked a finger and then set it to a sizzling noise on his leg.

Not to be outdone, after all, she was Everwood's finest dancer, Madame Marie's greatest protégé, Amy began her _jetes_, up down and around, her leg arched up in back, then sweeping around to the side, jumping, bouncing around her new partner, her heart thrilling in the physical exercise, her mind soaring to the ceiling. She could do this. She was strong, as good as anyone else here. She could do anything. She stopped in an _arabesque_ position, leaning onto her bent back leg, breathing, taking deep cleansing breaths, her chest huffing.

"Nice," Julian said with a nod. "Nice."

"Oh, you think I'm worthy of you, oh dance God?" asked Amy, letting her arms fall to her sides, and relaxing out of her position.

"I think together we're going to kick ass," said Julian quite plainly. And Amy smiled.

Madame came over to assess the two of them. She nodded definitively. "You're an attractive pair. Perhaps more beautiful than the others. But can you live up to the talent that will be expected of you? More is expected of the good looking in this world."

"Madame, we will be your best dancers yet," promised Julian, making Amy give him a look of surprise. Certainly he wasn't truly this cocky.

When Madame turned her scrutinizing eyes on Amy's lithe form, Amy trembled. She was not used to such scrutiny. Madame ran her hand over Amy's upper arms, and the muscular form of her thighs. "Yes," she said, "you are most definitely strong. Live up to your beauty."

Amy nodded. She would try.

--

As Amy walked along campus, early in the morning, when the air was warm and muggy; at night, from one building to another, she felt a presence as if behind her. But when she would turn around, no one would be there. She felt as though someone were staring, but from where, she couldn't say. Strange, to be so admired, for a small-town girl finally in the big city.

- -  
to be continued...


	3. Your Dance

Title: New York, New York  
Author: BehrBeMine  
Feedback: Is immeasureable. Let me know if this is worth continuing.  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Don't sue, I'll cry. ;p  
Summary: AU -- I have turned the world upside down. What if it wasn't Ephram's family that suffered the loss of a beloved someone? What if therefore they never moved to Everwood? Amy leaves the safety net of her hometown to get away from the tragedy that haunts her.  
Rating: PG-13  
Distribution: Just please let me know and we'll be good.  
Classification: Ephram and Amy  
Spoilers: Up through January of 2006.  
Note: A shorter chapter. I decided to leave it as is. Let me know how it goes!  
Another Note: This chapter for Jess, one of my reviewers. Thanks for the idea. Enjoy.

**Chapter Three: Your Dance**

- -  
Tracy liked to keep the dorm window shades closed, sealing their small room in darkness, blocking out the light. This did not sit well with Amy. She needed the sunshine, the light, to make her feel free and ready to flit around on a stage. Risking her roommate's wrath, she dared to throw the shades wide open, and open the window itself as well, breathing in the fresh autumn air. There was no better way to start a morning than to inhale the purest air of all, and be bathed in the all-healing sun.

"No," mumbled Tracy, hiding her freckles with her gigantic comforter, pulling it over her head to shut out the light. "Too much light. Make it go away." She sighed in an exasperated way and sat up on her bed. "Who the hell gets up this time in the morning, anyway?"

"Those of us who actually go to class?" Amy suggested.

"School was made for ditching," argued Tracy. Her wild red hair was even more disheveled than usual, after a night of partying and doing God knows what else.

"Fresh air feeds your skin. We're like plants. We need the sun to grow."

"All I need is a damn cigarette right about now. You want to light up?"

"I don't smoke," Amy confessed, while shaking her head. She bit her opinions on the subject down, deciding getting into a fight over what a disgusting and useless habit smoking a cigarette was would only lead to more arguments. She didn't get along well with her roommate, who stayed out late at night, snuck boys in for barely disguised sex in a bed right next to Amy's, in the very same room.

It drove Amy crazy. The moans, the gasps, the sound of long fingernails trailing down a male's smooth back. The bed squeals, the banging of the headboard. All of it nearly drove her crazy, and almost made her regret having come to such a college in the first place. Why had she been expecting perfection? Well, maybe she hadn't been expecting so much as _needing_ perfection. After everything that had happened in her short life, the girl deserved a break. She was so hoping that college would provide that much-needed, much-deserved normal atmosphere that she had felt so removed for for so long.

Tracy moaned in a woe-be-me way, elongating the sound until it was like nails on a chalkboard. "Close those drapes, girl, or I'm going to kick your a -- "

Amy rolled her eyes. "Go ahead and try. I have better things to do today."

Amy took one last long sniff from the opened window, glorifying in the sunny outside weather, grabbed her purse, and headed out for campus. "About time you got your ass out of here," was the last she heard from Tracy as she closed the dorm room door behind her. Sighing, thinking so very many things to herself, none of them good, Amy headed off for her first class of the day. And the one after that, and the one after that. Schoolwork. It was like a rollercoaster without any bumps in the road, any thrill. Just endless racing down a track that is already predestined for you. Finish your chem lab homework and maybe you can continue to scrape by. Ignore your English homework, and be thrown off the tracks. It was a dangerous thing, college academics. If you didn't put yourself out there as being unbelievably intelligent, people wondered what you were doing there. The pressure of being in an Ivy League school was not lost on Amy. She felt it with every lecture, every class, every discussion she was forced into having with others. She wanted so badly to succeed, for once in a long time.

Of course, regular academics are a far-fetched second from the arts, which is the real draw of the school. Music, dancing, notes and bodies in motion. That was what a Julliard college experience was going to be about, in the beginning, through to the end. Sometimes Amy showed up to dance class so tired, so run down from B graded papers and lack of sleep at night. Tossing and turning is something she's been doing for years, ever since she lost her first love. Nothing has felt as if it fit into place since then. And then with her second loss... She wondered if anything would ever fit again.

But we all have to do something with our time. One could only sit and stare at four walls of a room for so long before boredom or insanity kicked in, forcing you to steal out into the world and make a name for yourself, whatever kind of name that might be. It had been an easy decision for Amy, once she decided to shape up and get over her losses, and look for some wins. She was ready to become a prima ballerina. Grace personified. Or a jazz dancer, full of the highs and lows of positions and swaying to a beat with an edge. It didn't matter what kind of dancing she pursued; she loved it all. She could fully become any kind of dancer she happened to be worthy of performing.

Madame Holoff was certainly getting on in her years, and with the loss of her youth seemed to come the loss of her compassion. She was here to mold, as if from clay, this choreography and the positions that would stem from it. For the first few weeks, everyone did the same dance at the same time, with Madame at the front of the class, demonstrating with flexibility and grace all of the moves that would wow audiences, and earned herself her own applause, back in her day. She was no cuddle-hugging mother. She was a shape-shifter, shifting the shapes of her dancers' bodies until they remained stagnant in one perfect position. She would position Amy on one leg, lifting her back leg up to curl right near the back of her neck, spreading out her fingers in an elaborate and eloquent way. Madame would then step back to take a look at her experiment, and declare it a masterpiece. Amy would hold the position, steadying her balance, until Madame allowed her to relax.

Some of Madame's experiences didn't turn out as well as others. She'd try to pin Julian down in a particular pose, and when his strong, supple legs couldn't handle all the weight being thrust onto them by her radically chosen position, she'd drop him to the floor, swear a word or few, and demand that he get right back up and attempt that skill again. She was not at all selective with her dancers. All of them could be perfect at times; all of them could fail. You never got a smile from Madame, just a nod or a grunt to signify that she was pleased with what she was seeing.

Amy strived to please Madame every time she set a toe to the dance floor, every time she picked out a leotard that seemed to fit the mood or the weather or the song they were to dance to. Sometimes Madame grunted in appreciation; other times she scarcely noticed.

But Madame was not the most important factor in Amy's dancing. Her biggest factor was her heart, and the dreams she had that she intended to fill to the top, and then some. She would dance in musicals someday; she would play lead rolls in ballet productions one day. She would graduate Julliard as the most talented dancer ever to grace their lovely stage. She would receive armfuls of roses that she would send back home to be placed on the graves of those she has loved and has lost.

During a particularly grueling session with the long barre set up next to the wall of mirrors, _plies_ down to the ground, eyes up at the stars, class was interrupted by Madame's urgent clearing of her throat.

"I have something for you all. Whether it's a present or an annoyance is up to you. It's time to begin dancing to live music, not just old records that have grown tired, whiney with dust. It is time to beat your feet to the rhythm that another human being is creating beside you, as you spill your heart for all, including this musician, to see. Perhaps you and the musician's hearts will spill together."

Amy, holding lightly to the barre and continuing her positions, was paying attention, but not entirely. Her eyes didn't rest upon Madame, though she heard the words coming from her mouth. Every sentence from Madame's mouth was either trash or poetry. She either hated her words or lovingly cupped them with her voice. It betrayed her mood, her energy level, her faith in her dancers that particular day. This day, her faith seemed strong. That, or she had taken one too many pain medication pills that morning.

"Amy Abbott, Julian Marquet!" Madame snapped impatiently. "Pay attention!"

Swinging his legs in an exaggerated way behind Amy, Julian continued his movements until his foot squarely connected with the strong, supple buttocks that stood before him. Amy's. She let out a yelp, and then counterattacked, sending a piercing kick to Julian's knee. He puffed air out of his chest, bent down and recovered quickly, to flash her a cocky smile.

"Now, we have decided," continued Madame, rolling her eyes at the antics of such children, "that the top students practicing piano at this school will begin practicing as you practice, together. They will play, and you will dance, and we will find the musical and dance pairings that fit. You are all to do your best, and only your best, nothing less. I expect hard work, dedication, and sacrifice. I expect sweat, tears, and jubilation. I expect artistry.

"And now, here comes our first piano player..."

A boy, slight in form, stepped out of the shadows as if onto a stage, completely unprepared. Hands in his jean pockets, hair longer than many men chose to keep it, he stood awkwardly, until Madame signaled that he should take his seat at the piano bench. The piano had been reeled in to the dance studio just that morning, after Madame collaborated with one of the top piano instructors of the school.

Amy stopped swinging her legs. She let go of the barre. That boy at the piano... there was something familiar about him... The way he hunched, the way he took his hands out of his pockets and then didn't seem to know what to do with them. He was quite far away.

As if sensing what was in Amy's heart, the need she had to get closer, Madame chose her as the first to dance to this boy's hands' rhythm. There was to be no sheet music allowed. He would simply follow her moves and choreograph the notes for himself as she created a dance to bind to his music. All this was then explained by Madame.

Amy stepped forward and got into a starting position, her arms over her head, hands gracefully inching towards one another, then dropped to be at her sides. She looked down to the floor by her left arm, kept her shoulders square with the floor, and stuck a toe out to finish the pose. She was ready.

The first note of the song sounded, and Amy's head rose, her eyes falling on the handsome stranger. Or was he such a stranger? Something about him...

Rising up on toe, Amy began small, delicate steps, creating a _string of pearls_ with her feet. The boy's music followed her body, which hummed in the exhilaration of creating something all on its own. There was nothing in Amy's mind but the dance, and this wonder of why this boy seemed so familiar. He wouldn't look up, but oh, she knew him.

Wanting to switch gears and yet remain the picture of simplicity and grace, Amy lowered from her toes and swiftly moved into a _grapevine_, crossing one leg in front of the other, another leg in back of the previous, and continuing on. She shuffled gracefully to the mirrored wall where Julian stood with his arms crossed over his chest, watching her intently. He licked his lips as she flashed him nothing close to a smile, and dashed away, leaping into the air on her way back to the piano. She had to get closer to this stranger who worked such magic with his hands. She had to see...

The music picked up its pace as she neared the musician, as if he could sense the way her blood was suddenly boiling in her veins, her arteries in a frenzy. The music was calling her nearer, as she was calling out to him to look up, to see her, to _see_...

Amy broke into a _shimmy_ to accompany the music, her narrow shoulders clicking back and forth effortlessly, flirtatiously. From his place at the opposite wall, Julian shifted his weight to his right foot, clenching his fists at his side. He could see a fire blazing, and it didn't suit him one bit.

Twirling so that the silly skirt around her waist frilled out, fanning itself in all its blue glory, Amy brought her hands to the side of her face, drawing them down so slowly without ever quite touching the cheeks her fingers nearly grazed. The boy's hands continued to work their magic, even though he looked down any time she cast a wondering glance his way. After working herself up into a continuing frenzy, leaping and swaying and pausing and twirling, Amy came to a resting stop, as her accompanying music fizzled out and died.

Breathing hard, her shoulders sagging down, and then rising back up to level numerous times, Amy brought a hand to her chest, trying to calm her body and gain some deep breaths. After a respectful pause, her fellow dancers broke out into applause. Looking up, Amy smiled, she grinned, really, radiant and beautiful. A dancer. She took an exaggerated bow, and giggled, drunk on the clapping of hands that all happened because of her. She and her musician...

As he looked up, she realized, there he was. It was the boy from the airport. He looked into her eyes, recognized her as well, and smiled. Softly she whispered, "Ephram..."

- -  
to be continued...


End file.
